


Cleaning Up the Kiki

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2013 [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 04, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2013. Kurt the morning after the kiki on Thanksgiving, rethinking some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleaning Up the Kiki

Kurt awoke slowly the day after Thanksgiving to a loft desperately in need of a cleaning. He stood in the gray of the early morning kitchen, trying to muster the motivation to tackle the wreckage of the previous night. He was a bit ashamed of himself, really; last year by this time on Black Friday morning, he had been awake for hours, having conquered the early bird sales at the mall, and was probably already digging into his IHop pancakes while planning the second wave of shopping with Tina and Mercedes.

The thought of the girls sent a pang of longing through him. He wondered if Mercedes had anyone to join her in an LA shopping adventure, and if Tina had lassoed Blaine into going with her instead this year. She was always in need of a beast of burden, and with Mike off living his own big city adventure in Chicago and, it seemed, moving on from their high school romance, she would be at a loss.

He shuffled to fill the sink with hot, soapy water and pondered just calling Blaine to ask. After last night’s phone call, he figured that was something he could do now. Actually he could find out how Tina felt about whatever had gone down at Sectionals last night—she’d waited so long for a competition solo—  
But first things first. He put the kettle on to boil for tea, then got to work. He didn’t remember actually owning this many glasses. He trailed about the apartment gathering them up, finding evidence everywhere of the wild fun Isabelle had invited into his loft the night before.

A large pair of sparkly high heels brought clearly to mind that these exciting, fashionable people not only came to his orphan’s Thanksgiving, but stayed to drink and dance and lose their shoes. He had felt so adult last night, so aware of stepping into this New York life he had always dreamed of.

He felt the urge to call Blaine again, this time to tell him of his night. But he held off, standing instead at the sink up to his elbows in suds. Unbidden the image of Blaine as the small-town boy he’d left behind came to mind. It had kept coming up all night really, as he had allowed himself to be pulled back into the festive atmosphere in the apartment. He kept hearing the wistfulness in the other’s boy’s voice, his desperate hope. Mostly, lying in bed last night, replaying their conversation, he heard in his mind so clearly the choked-off giggle mixed with a sob. God, Blaine just sounded so young. Kurt just wasn’t used to thinking of him in that way.

Once or twice senior year he had stood in the Anderson living room as Blaine smoothly handled small talk with his father’s associates, with women in sheath-like dresses and tennis tans, with men who wore privilege like a well-tailored suit. On those evenings, Blaine reverted to the perfect, polished young man Kurt had first thought him to be. It was difficult now to reconcile that poised boy with the reality. He guessed that the whole act was Blaine’s greatest performance—that the world thought he was something other than just some high school kid wearing men’s clothes. He sure had bought that story.

And part of him had clung to that image of perfect Blaine even through all the other boy’s—and his own—missteps last year. He supposed he had come to New York with the idea that somehow “mature Blaine” would be holding down his end of the relationship.

He laughed to himself a bit bitterly, and turned to pour the tea and make toast. God, why was it so hard to allow himself to think of Blaine as simply human? Not a monster, not a saint, just…just Blaine. Maybe it was time to start. He sat down hard and stared at his phone screen for a moment before dialing.

“Hey? How did it go last night? Rachel wasn’t making much sense, but it sounded rough. How’s Tina? Sure, put her on…”


End file.
